











ov: 



,•10^ . 


















MEDITATIONS 



HYMNS. 



'''-ST ^9 



x; 



PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL BOOK SOCIETY, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

1224 CHESTNUT STREET. 



^^<\'\\ 

^^m 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, 
by J. Hamilton, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court, 
in and for the Eastern District of the State of Pennsylvania. 

Gift 

Rev. Bid-win H. Bookmyer 

April lO. 1928 ^ ' 



Collins, Pk inter, 705 Jayne St. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Dying Grace 5 

The One Thing Withheld 9 

The Christian's Song in Humiliation . . 12 

Love 14 

The Cross ........ 17 

Eventide . 19 

The Rivulet 24 

Saved by Grace 28 

The Release 34 

Cloud Shadows 36 



IV . CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Nameless Graves .39 

Looking Within 44 

Spring 47 

August . . . . . . . . .60 

Nature 64 

All God's "Works Declare Him .... 67 
The View Across the Eiver . . . *. 59 

Silent Influences 62 

Christ's Help AND All-sufficiency . . .64 

Morning 67 

Dusk .71 

Midnight 75 

The Beautifying Power 81 

The Snow-storm 84 

Singleness op Purpose 89 

The Present 92 

The Teacher Taught 94 

Severity and Gentleness 97 

The Butterfly . . . . . . .99 

God's Greatest Work 101 

Phcebe Ann Jacobs' Cottage .... 103 



CONTENTS. V 
PAGE 

The Eagle 107 

The Sea-coast Cave 109 

Praise Ill 

Prayer • 113 

Peace in Trouble 115 

Awaking at Night 118 

Unbelief ^ . . 121 

Who hath Preserved me 124 

The Secret Sin 127 

Without and With the Cross .... 130 

The Mirror 133 

The Dying Hour 135 

Here and Hereafter ...... 138 

Conflict 140 

The Necessity of Faith 146 

Omniscience 149 

Perfection of all God's Works .... 151 

The Summer Cottage in Winter .... 153 

Daily Falls -156 

The Weight 160 

The Pilgrim's So-ng 163 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Grief at a Mother's Loss 

Ever Near Falling 

Delay op Christian Effort 

Authorship 

The World and our Labors 

A Spring in the Woods . 

Posthumous Fame . 



PAGE 

166 
168 
170 
173 
175 
179 
183 



MEDITATIONS kW HYMNS. 



DYING GEACE. 



When from disease or weariness, 
I know not which, weak, in distress, 

I on my couch am laid, 
How sweet it is, while waiting there, 
Keleased from all disturbing care, 

To feel my peace is made ! 
2 



DYING GRACE. 

I seem escaped from earthly things, 
Loosed by tliat Spirit's power, who brings 

The suppliant near the Throne ; 
While sins that threatened me before, 
Now, silenced, terrify no more, 

And naught but love is known. 

The dark clouds that I feared might lower 
And fill with gloom my final hour, 

Have from this spot passed by; 
Lo ! where I forward looked with dread, 
I, now, midst fruits and flowers am led 

Beneath a cloudless sky ! 

'Tis not by process of the mind. 
By thought, by argument I find, 

From all fear this release ; 
Bat as the showers do silent fall 
Where they are sent, without my call 

Comes down this perfect peace. 



DYING GEACE. 



Oft have I wrestled in my day, 

When strength was mine, and all my way 

Seemed strewed with hindrances, 
And oft my cup seemed running o'er 
With answers given, but ne'er before 

Found I such peace as this ! 

In perfect weakness, when I feel 

No earthly balm my wounds could heal, 

And none from Heaven be sought. 
Then all my bruises are made whole, 
While to my drooping, fainting soul. 

Cordials of joy are brought. 

Ah ! 'tis not yet my time to die. 
This hour of languor shall pass by, 

'Tis but of toil my pain ! 
When these tired limbs their couch have pressed, 
I rising soon, refreshed by rest. 

Will seek my task again. 



DYING GRACE. 

But, never more, will I forget 
The Saviour I this day have met 

In Love-Divine's embrace ; 
When fears of death assert their power, 
I'll answer. With the dying hour 

He will bring Dying Grace I 



THE ONE THING WITHHELD. 



Though I be useful wliere my lot is cast, 
Serving my Lord in many humbling ways, 

Though of his pardoning mercy made to taste, 
And by his Spirit taught to offer praise — 

Though I am one of Christ's, and born anew. 
Yea, and have sweet assurance in my heart 

That I am numbered with the chosen few 
Who, from his fold, shall never more depart : 



10 THE ONE THING WITHHELD. 

Yet, if there be one bend in all the road, 
One hill or vale by which he leadeth me, 

Where I would murmur, or cast down my load, 
I still am far from what I ought to be. 

If but one pain unwillingly I bear, 
If but one service hard I him deny. 

If aught in life to trust with him I fear, 
If there be one way I refuse to die ; 

By just so much, my heart perverse and blind, 
The fulness of its portion fails to see; 

While in his whole will one defect I find, 
I still am far from what I ought to be. 

I may receive of heavenly support. 

Good works may grow and prosper in my hand. 
And if but Christ's, however I come short. 

His grace shall bring me to the Promised Land. 



THE ONE THING WITHHELD. 11 

But here on eartli, my soul shall never know 
What might have been its untold happiness ; 

Slighting my privilege I still shall go, 
My service and my recompense, both less. 



12 



THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG IN HUMILIATION. 



That does me good which humbles me, 
And when I am abased most, 

More have I, than if heir to all 
The empty honors Earth can boast. 

'Tis not the pleasantest estate. 
Far hidden in the vale below ; 

Yet thither, from the hills around. 
Enriching streams make haste to flow. 



THE CHKISTIAN'S SONG IN HUMILIATION. 13 

And surely it doth comfort yield, 

Amid dishonor, loss or shame. 
To think — Now in the very place 

Where blessings most abound I am ! 

When bowed beneath some heavy cross 

I toiling go, or while I bear 
The lesser humblings of each hour. 

This makes their frowning presence fair. 



14 



LOYE. 



When on the heart we look, to find 

Whose cherished image it doth wear, 
We learn that not the loftiest mind 

Doth grave its name most deeply there, 
But the forgiving, true and kind ; 

And knowing this, and that above 
All offerings that can rendered be 

To us, we most desire love. 
It hath a marvel been to me 



LOVE. 15 

That Gentleness and Charity 

We strive not harder to attain, 

Though for ourselves, alone, the gain ! 
Doth not a hasty spirit fling 

That one first drop of bitterness 
Into Love's pure and healing spring. 

That else would flow forth but to bless ? 
Or like an unquenched spark it lies, 

Even 'midst the gathered bonds of home, 
It fires, it snaps the tender ties 

That should bind brethren into one. 

Oh, for that calm and equal mind 
Whose peace a breath may not disturb, 

Who, where the soil seems all unkind, 

Some hidden virtue still will find, 
And its own enmity doth curb. 

Few spots of earth have fruitless proved. 
When patient hands have come to till; 



16 LOVE. 

Few hearts but some have justly loved, 
Few but we may love if we will. 

Are any pure ? Hath Love a law 
By which unmingled, spotless worth 

Alone may claim regard from her? 
Then may she turn, to-day, from earth ! 

The trait to love, must oft be sought 

Like veins in treasure-yielding ground ; 
If the bare surface holds it not, 

Deeper, perchance, it may be found — 
And having found it, oh how fair 

Th' uncovered grace shows to the light I 
The whole wide, stony waste doth wear 

For it, new beauty in our sight. 
The Gold is reached ! its hue we see ! 

All hid in our own breasts of such, 
As by some secret alchemy. 

Thrills at its first life-giving touch, 
And glows with kindred sympathy ! 



17 



THE CROSS. 



If thou a Christian art, bound to thy lot 

Shall be some Cross. It is the load all bear 

Who follow Christ toward heaven. When at length, 

After long bafflings, thou hast found out thine, 

Seek not to loose it more. Turn, and in love 

Embrace it, for whatever shape it wear. 

It is, in truth, thy friend. The ease it spoils. 

Or the good gifts it seems to hold thee from, 



18 THE CROSS. 



Are nothing, to those blessings yet unknown, 
"Which in th' mysterious orderings of thy fate 
Are knit with it, and it alone, for thee. 



19 



EVENTIDE. 



This is tlie hour when, far back in old time, 
Isaac, at Eve, walked forth to meditate. 
Amid green fields he walked, with lowing herds 
Far scattered round him. Who can tell how oft 
At this same hour, through all the ages since, 
Lone wanderers amid like solitude. 
Have mused with holy thought as he did then ? 
There is an influence uttered not, but strong 



20 EVENTIDE. 

That Nature doth shed forth to win men now, 

And they yield to it, though discerning not 

To what high teaching woos her gentle hand. 

I tread not the green fields, but on the brink 

Of the steep shore, beside the river's flood, 

I sit me down alone. The restless winds 

That ruffle this expanse by day and night. 

Are all departed, leaving the wide plain 

Smooth as a mirror. In the distant west 

The sun goes down ; his brightest rays are gone. 

And clouds that late received him, passing through. 

With gorgeous colors, faded once again, 

Deepen in purple as he far descends. 

But, scattered through the heaven outspread above. 

Lone, loftier clouds still catch the crimson tints 

And cast their shadows in the tide below. 

Look at the scene ! That purple wall of cloud, 

Built 'gainst the west, inverted now we see. 

Those forests, that the opposite shore do fringe, 



EVENTIDE. 21 

Are doubled, eacb. tree spreading dark beneath; 
While over all the glassy surface spread, 
At intervals, the red clouds of the sky 
Are pictured, yet more soft, deep — deep below ! 
The heavens grow dark — between those crimson spots 
The answ'ring waters blacken, and the stars, 
Just shown above, I see relighted there. 
Oh beautiful! Can I no further reach? 
Often thus far I've come and looked upon 
The works spread round me, till they filled my soul, 
And every faculty it doth contain, 
With the acknowledgment of nature's charms, 
But ever with them seems to come a bar — 
A barrier to some farther sought advance. 
They are most beautiful, yet they impart 
No other speech to me, no larger being ! 
I pause upon the brink of the beyond, 
And am not satisfied ! My soul still thirsts 
For something more. As far as they extend 
3 



22 EVENTIDE. 

'Tis well, and fills me with a deep delight ; 

Yet that which whets the spirit's appetite 

Not satisfies its hunger ! Ah, my soul, 

Be thou content to learn what this would teach. 

Nature is not thy God. It holdeth not 

The final good, yet coming from God's hand 

Would win thee to him. It is not prepared 

To take the place which He alone can fill, 

Upon the fall'n heart's vacant throne of love ; 

Nor are the charms so thick about thee spread 

That whereon thou must feed ! Thy Saviour's Cross 

Is thy true portion. Eest nor pleasure here, 

From any visible nor from unseen things. 

Can be thy chief employment, clothed in clay ; 

But in the intervals between the toils 

And stern tasks of thine upward pilgrimage, 

Nature, with all the visible, beauteous acts 

And works of the Creator, are to help 

As glimpses — springs of water by the way. 



EVENTIDE. 23 

That lead toward the great river, tasting faint 

Of that pure Stream of Life ! When then, beguiled 

With these beginnings of that final draught, 

Thou treadest now, no more, the pilgrim's path, 

But seekest here to linger and draw forth 

The soul's full cup of bliss — the stream so sweet 

For its true purpose, stagnates to thy taste ! 

Nature, however woo'd or looked upon, 

Can yield but that for which she hath been sent. 

I have, then, too much sought to fill my mouth 

With fruits plucked from her — in those shaded bowers 

Meant to refresh, I have made my abode; 

And so I find, by wisdom's ordered rule. 

Which may not bend for me, that her delights, 

Rather than adding more unto their store. 

Have lost of what was at the first their bulk. 



24 



THE RIYULET * 



Deep in a wood I walked, where bending boughs 
Close-grouped, denied an entrance to the eye, 

When suddenly, soft on my ear arose 
The sound of waters flowing somewhere nigh. 

Thirsting amid the noonday's sultry heat. 
And wearied with my journey, steep and long. 

From the lone path I turned my willing feet 
To seek whence came this voice of forest song. 

* 1 Cor. X. 4. 



THE RIVULET. * 25 

Through depths of withered leaves, with rustling tread, 

I forced my way in utter solitude. 
Still by the murmuring of the waters led. 

That louder, as I came, swelled through the wood : 

Till presently, a noisy Eivulet 

There tumbling over mossy stones, I found ; 
Above it, high in air, tall branches met. 

And wild flowers bloomed beside it, on the ground. 

I stooped and from its gushing current drew 
Eefreshment, that cooled all my toilworn frame ; 

Then, lingering not its secret charms to view. 
Turned and resought the path from whence I came. 

But still the hidden stream flowed by my way 
For many a mile, and till the evening hour ; 

Still heard I, through the wood, its soft wild lay ; 
Still felt I that cool draught's refreshing power. 



26 ' THE RIVULET. 

In the sweet sound there was companionship, 
It fell upon my heart like words of cheer; 

And well I knew, again my thirsty lip 

Might drink, if need be, from its current clear. 

That night, when lying down, my journey o'er, 

Ere I its toils in slumber could forget, 
By fancy led, revisiting once more 

The lonely wood, the murmuring rivulet ; 

Methought, how like a richer stream hath been 
The brook that followed by my side to-day: 

So doth Christ's Presence, through life's changing scene. 
Comfort the heaven-bound pilgrim on his way. 

When earth, for him, lies clothed with verdure bright, 

When trouble strips it to a wilderness ; 
In Joy's glad morning, or in Sorrow's night. 

That Presence doth attend him but to bless. 



THE RIVULET. 27 

And still the Christian, as he journeys on, 
Feeling, whate'er his lot, sin's inward power, 

Doth listen to its voice, and lean upon 
The help it giveth in the trying hour. 

Often he turneth from the world aside, 
Seeking fresh vigor for the conflict there ; 

He drinketh from that life-renewing tide, 
While borne aloft in praise, or bowed in prayer. 

Sweet Stream ! by thee I long have nurtured been , 
A loving hand me by thy course has led, 

Yet do I thirst ! When shall I enter in 

With ransomed soul, blood-bought from Death and Sin, 
Where I may drink deep, at the Fountain Head ! 



28 



SATED BY GRACE. 



'Tis vain, fhe endeavor to make pure 
Our hearts before God's sight, 

They cannot e'en the search endure, 
By Reason's partial light. 

For though with man. pride may forbid 
"VTe should our faults confide, 

TTho feels not in his bosom hid 
That many yet abide ? 



SAVED BY GRACE. 29 

But when God's Spirit hath us taught 

His perfect Law, we feel 
The sin that tinges but the thought, 

The guilt words ne'er reveal. 

What seemed a trivial stain before, 

In nature's estimate, 
Now spreading, blots the whole life o'er, 

And mars all our estate. 

With this new light doth knowledge come 

That succor is on high ; 
That but One can avert man's doom, 

His nature purify : 

But not embraced quite by the heart, 

These new truths to it given, 
We mostly, still, would weave a part 

Of our own dress for heaven. 



30 SAVED BY GRACE. 

We strive, but sin still cleaves to us ; 

We weep o'er faults confessed, 
And cry : Ah, ne'er polluted thus, 

Shall I attain that Eest ! 

Until oft raised and fall'n again, 

Oft baffled to and fro, 
We find our strength is spent in vain, 

And that it must be so. 

That, whether in Christ's fold or not. 

If from his faith we fall. 
And seek by works to cleanse sin's spot, 

Forgetting He doth all — 

If once again toward our own cross 
From His, we turn our eyes. 

Or in the least would join our loss 
With His sole sacrifice — 



SAVED BY GRACE. 31 

If, thougli our lips belief profess 

That grace can save alone, 
Our hearts, by doubtings and distress. 

That simple trust disown — 

If not through love, but slavish fear 

We serve him, and with dread 
Strive to be blameless, lest he pour 

His curses on our head, 

We shall not walk in peace, but go. 
Like those who Christ ne'er knew, 

In bondage to a cruel foe. 
Life's weary journey through. 

For Conscience, when the soul by her 

Seeks to be justified. 
With scorpion lash and bloody spur 

Eunneth our path beside. 



32 SAVED BY GRACE. 

Ere this day's set task is begun, 
To-morrow's farther bound 

Is marked; her toils are never done, 
Her rest is never found. 

Great burdens on the soul she lays, 
And bids it scale heaven's height ; 

Waking, sin's crushing load dismays, 
And fears of wrath by night. 

But Grace does not afflict us so. 

It sets the prisoner free ; 
It bids the poor, bound captive go, 

With a son's liberty. 

For Jesus knows how weak our frame. 

But of the dust we are ; 
By pity moved, for us he came, 

To make our souls his care. 



SAVED BY GRACE. 33 

And our release by Him is won, 

Seek not to win it o'er ; 
Would'st thou a second time atone, 

Or to his blood add more? 

*' Fear not," He saith, ^' on me to stay 

Thy soul for Death's dark hour: 
Fear not th' approaching Judgment Day, 

The Law's condemning power; 

" Not to the Law, but unto Me 

Thou then shalt answer make ; 
I, who have borne sin's penalty, 

And suffered for thy sake." 



34 



THE RELEASE. 



I THOUGHT, as by my friend's sick couch I stood, 
How like the way is made we all must tread, 
Feeble and suffering, downward to the tomb ! 
If we could take this from our portion off. 
Disease and the accompaniments of death, 
And go up, lifted as Elijah was. 
Unto that Rest now reached alone through them, 
How many who do shrink from year to year. 



THE RELEASE. 35 

And tremble o'er the last unfettering step, 

Would crowd life's farther threshold ! It is well 

Some slight, imagined bar should hold us back, 

Or clamors for deliverance would arise 

Where prayers for patience should our tongues employ, 

E'en before heaven, to choose our Father's will. 



36 



GLOUD SHADOWS. 



On yonder far, blue mountain's side, I see 
Dark moving spots. So vast their bulk they touch 
At once the summit and the base ; they change 
Their uncouth shapes, and slowly creep along. 
What are they ? They are shadows of the clouds 
Floating between the mountain and the sun ; 
White summer clouds, within an azure sky. 
More swift, across the plain, I see them come 



CLOUD SHADOWS. 37 

Unchecked from field to field ; each one in turn 
Obscuring for a moment. Where the wheat 
Close reaped for many an acre, stands in shocks, 
They cast a fieeting shade ; the meadow green 
Is darkened next; soon a whole waving wood 
Looks richer while they lodge amid its top. 
Now o'er me, in the wind-traversed space, 
I see the forms from whence these shadows fall. 
No dimness clothes them there ; illumined bright, 
Filled with the beams they will not let pass through, 
They add new beauty to the realms of air. 

So, Christian, from true blessings framed in heaven. 
Thine earthly seeming sorrows ever fall. 
Couldst thou look up, as I do, to the height 
From whence these shadows come, thou wouldst behold. 
For every woe some greater mercy hid, 
Enough to make thee welcome the brief shade 
Betokening its presence. And in this 
I 4 



38 CLOUD SHADOWS. 

Faith hath its office on our daily walk: 
When we can see the hour of gloom approach, 
Or feel the burden, or the stripes laid on, 
But not discern a blessing in the cause. 
Faith tells us, though we see it not, 'tis there ! 



39 



THE NAMELESS GRAVES. 



Here are two graves with flowers overgrown, 
No monument doth tell who lies beneath, 

Or how the swift-winged years have come and flown 
Since they were laid here by the hand of death. 

Yet was there once a time when smooth and green 
This sod unbroken lay in the cool shade ; 

Renewed each Spring its grassy dress was seen. 
Till autumn frosts, returning, made it fade. 



40 THE NAMELESS GRAVES. 

This virgin soil, that ne'er upheaved before, 
To dust received those who of dust were born, 

Then closed again to be disturbed no more 
Till they shall rend it on the Judgment Morn. 

I thither wandering by a toilsome way, 

To view this quiet resting-place am brought, 

And lingering here as fades the summer's day. 
Find 'mid its quiet beauties food for thought. 

Though still and lonely now, I do not doubt 
There has another scene been witnessed here. 

When sorrow, from the stricken heart, flowed out. 
And where these flowers spring, fell the bitter tear. 

But now, perchance, the stricken heart is gone 

That yearned for those who lie beneath this spot ; 
Perchance, of all who tread the earth, not one 
Eemembereth their image or their lot ! 



THE NAMELESS GKAVES. 41 

And this is but tlie common fate of all, 

The world forgets us though we loved it well, 

And the few kindred hearts that weep our fall, 
Soon following us, are fallen where we fell. 

It is not then upon your earthly state. 

Ye nameless slumb'rers who lie here at rest. 

That lingering thus I muse and meditate, 
As fades the day along the golden west ! 

Though ye had many lovers and few foes. 

Though shining honors clustered round your brow. 

Though ye were poor and suffered all the woes 
Of keenest want — what doth it matter now? 

Earth's sorrows and her highest joys forgot, 
The things ye sought in vain and those ye won — 

That pitied and that envied in your lot, 
Are now alike all gone, forever gone ! 



42 THE NAMELESS GRAVES. 

Not to the fleeting things of time, which die 
As the spent clay moans out its latest breath, 

Thought turns with silent, retrospective eye, 
But to the soul, that still lives, after death. 

Were ye of spirits broken, contrite, meek. 
Forsaking all things for a Saviour's love? 

Did ye neglect a portion here, and seek 
One garnered up at His right hand, above? 

Glad thought ! It may be that the path of prayer 
Across life's waste these mould'ring feet have trod, 

That, cheered by faith, through all this night of care 
With joyful steps they hasten'd home to God ! 

Sweet are their slumbers by the earth o'er spread, 
Peaceful their rest beneath the grass-grown heap ; 

Blest is their couch, yea, blest this narrow bed 
To those who here, till Jesus' coming, sleep. 



THE NAMELESS GRAVES. 43 

. May it be mine to know their safe repose, 

Where'er I fall, whate'er my mortal state ; 
Sin shall cease here — here all pursuing foes, 
As Heavenward, I enter Death's dark gate. 

If such my happy lot, I do not fear 

A dwelling with the worms. This crumbling dust 
Is but the seed ; then shall it reappear 

New, at the resurrection of the Just ! 



44 



LOOKING WITHIN. 



Am I unlike all men beside, 
In that polluted heart I hide 

From others' sight, deep in my breast ? 
Are they driven by the evil thought, 
And to the verge of action brought, 

Of guilty action, ne'er confessed? 



LOOKING WITHIN. 45 

I, wlio eacli day, from year to year, 
Do offer up the Christian's prayer, 

And seek for guidance from God's Word; 
Still from my closet often go, 
Like passions with the fiends below, 

To have within my bosom stirred ! 

Some scornful look, some slight offence, 

Some wooing, tempting bait of sense, 
My graces from me quickly win ; 

And then not Duty, so well known, 

But God's restraining hand alone. 
Doth hold me back from open sin. 

If others be like me ; if all 

Are thus corrupt and prone to fall. 

How can it move my wonder more 
To view triumphant wickedness, 
To see Sin spreading power possess, 

Till it prevails the whole world o'er ? 



46 LOOKING WITHIN. 

So am I brought to comprehend 
How we on heavenly aid depend, 

And that without free, blood-bought Grace, 
No soul could hold to virtue here, 
Or without trembling dread appear 

At last before the Judge's face. 



47 



SPEINGT. 



Even while I write slie comes ! As by the side 

Of the smooth river watching, oft I see 

The breeze approach with ripples and white crests, 

So we discern her presence hastening up 

From the far south. Or shall I her compare 

To one whose task it is to beautify? 

Like a bride decked for her near nuptial hour. 

The betrothed earth she circles round with flowers. 



48 SPRING. 

Or painter shall I call her, laying on 
Bright colors, mingling every tint with skill ? 
She cometh like a princess, with her train 
Of singing birds attended. Where the fields 
Lay brown and barren 'neath long Winter's reign 
She calls the tender blade; gardens and grounds 
For summer pleasures, claiming from the waste, 
And the sweet narrow path lost in the wood 
'Midst autumn leaves, tracing out plain again. 
The grave she spreadeth with fresh covering; 
Ever she finds some new one, where before 
'Twas smooth when she went by. She passeth not 
The lowly resting-place, nor yet the bed 
Of him who here was great. Alike o'er both 
She soweth thick, emblems of life renewed. 

Ah, when shall she find mine? On what return 
Will it lie near her path? Beside what stream, 
Or 'neath what spreading tree shall it be made? 



49 



How soon, as I write now of those just gone, 

Shall others write of me? Ponder, my heart! 

Take not life's shortened thread but to bind up 

Poesy's fading flowers. Although thy steps 

Be told not in thine ear, nor the days left 

Unfolded to thy sight, yet as he goes 

Who hast'neth by the seaside to embark, 

So nearest thou thy change. Hast thou been washed 

In Blood? and doth the sin-stained soul put on 

Another's Kighteousness ? Then shall this hour 

Of nature's glad awakening faintly show 

That blest revival to a Better Life 

Which shall be thine, when from the wintry tomb 

Thou comest forth, as a Spring-nurtured plant, 

To bloom and bear sweet fruits forevermore 

Midst fields that know no blight nor frost, in Heaven. 



50 



AUGUST. 



How fair the forest walk ! I tread 
Amid low bushes, dense and green, 

While tall boughs woven overhead 
Let in noon's burning rays between, 

Checkering the earth beneath my feet. 

Where light and shadow, mingling, meet 
Richer than on a palace floor. 



AUGUST. 51 

Why cease tlie birds ? - The Thrush's note, 

From where she hides in yonder tree, 
Filling with plaints her snowy throat. 

Is all the song that comes to me. 
But cricket shrill and grasshopper ' 
With noisy clamor answer her. 

And locusts with their sounding cry ; 
For August now is almost gone, 

Her latest hours are drawing nigh, 
The young from downy nests have flown, 
The parent's summer toils are done. 

Who taught you now to hush your song, 
And, silently, your fledglings bring 
While, for far climes, ye plume the wing ? 

So lead me, Thou who dost guide 
Them in their flight till it is passed. 

That I, at the Good Shepherd's side. 

With all the flock who there shall hide, 
May reach the Heavenly Fold at last! 



52 AUGUST. 

. Within this forest opening 

That peeps out from the mountain's side, 
I stand and look far o'er the plain, 
Shorn of its robe of golden grain. 
Some spots by deepest tints of brown 
The ploughman's earliest labors own. 
Who doth the yielding sod prepare 
Its dress of Winter-wheat to wear. 
From yonder distant barn I hear 
The flail resounding ; yet the sun 
Shines on a landscape rich and green, 
Where not a faded leaf is seen — • 
Nature's decline is scarce begun ; 
Only the morning's stirring breath 
Comes fresher, while I rest beneath 
This verdant roof and court its shade. 
And as the sunset hour draws on 
A purple haze descends upon 
The distant hills, and fading day 
Hastens with fleeter step away. 



AUGUST. 53 

We tliank Thee, who hast caused the field 
Once more its bounteous stores to yield ; 

In garners safe the husbandman 
Hath laid a world's provision by, 

Which not his toiling arm hath won, 
But Thou, for our need, didst supply. 



54 



NATURE. 



Thou lookest on some fragment of the Past, 
Some carved Sarcophagus which hid hath lain, 
Covered up, unknown for a thousand years; 
And the dim fancies that around it throng. 
Fictions upsummoned but from thine own brain. 
Clothe it with interest. But when, in thy search 
Through all its parts, the closer scrutiny 
Reveals some strange inscription that doth tell 



55 



Who laid there in his ancient sleep of death, 

Giving the name and lineage of a king — 

How doth that interest deepen into awe ! 

So once I walked beside a murmuring brook 

In early youth (I know the stream yet well, 

And where far through a wooded glen it winds), 

Feeling the stirrings of a strange delight 

Such as in other ears I might not speak, 

Tho' conscious of the source from whence it sprang. 

Yet as I followed on that brook's green brink. 

Noting its falls and eddies — leaping now 

Across its bosom to the firmer side — 

Now sitting down beneath some spreading tree. 

Gazing and listening to its gentle song, 

There was imparted to my childish soul 

A sense of beauty and a real joy. 

These were responses from that answering chord 

Placed in my bosom — early openings 

Of that perception which notes nature's charms! 



56 NATURE. 

But as I grew, and this instinctive sense 

Deepened with years, Grace the full truth revealed 

That all these charms were fashioned by the hand 

Of One who loved me; and that Nature stood 

Eobed as she was, not to embody forth 

Some unknown God, some dim unformed belief, 

That we, kept back from any near approach, 

Should darkly worship her, or Him in her ; 

But wrought out by God's hand veiled from my sight, 

The visible witness of his Power and Love. 

As thou wouldst walk amid mementos spread 

From one beloved, yet hidden from thine eyes, 

So walk I amid nature ! and if now, 

After a circling pilgrimage of years. 

My steps were led back to that early stream. 

Not by the mind's maturer growth alone. 

But by this new interpretation given, 

Would all its beauties show to me more fair. 



I 



57 



ALL GOD'S WOEKS DECLAEE HIM. 



There's not a flower upon tlie plain 
That drinks tlie dew or summer's rain, 
But, as it spreads its tints abroad, 
Dotli speak the goodness of our God. 

On every leaf and springing blade 
That rustles through the forest glade, 
Some trace or vestige fair is shown 
By which His power divine is known. 



58 ALL god's works declare htm. 

The warblings in the lone woods heard, 
The deep tones by the tempest stirred, 
In voice of wrath or tenderness, 
Alike, His will supreme express. 

The sombre night doth Him proclaim, 
It utters forth His dreadful name ; 
Morn doth those gloomy shades dispel. 
And of triumphant mercy tell. 

The spreading skies of spotless blue 
Bear witness, and the thick clouds too ; 
Earth doth her testimony bring 
In wintry robes or dress of spring. 

All nature's works, Lord, combine 
T' exalt thy Name, for they are thine; 
May we, with hearts taught in thy ways, 
From deeper source bring loftier praise ! 



69 



THE YIEW ACROSS THE RIYER. 



When morning fills the eastern skies, 

Or noon to heaven's blue height doth rise, 

Or when, at sunset, thickly fall 

Those golden beams that brighten all, 

Then gazing this deep river o'er 

To yonder far-ofiP, blooming shore, 

I think upon the Promised Land — 
How I shall one day pass the flood. 
And e'en as on that shore I stood. 

So on its blissful borders stand. 



THE VIEW ACROSS THE RIVER. 

Then on those very fields of green 
Methinks wing'd, angel forms are seen, 

Hasting with smiles to welcome me ; 
They draw me dripping from the tide, 
Each strikes the bright harp by his side, 

They shout at my delivery ! 

Ah ! yonder shores of wood and field 
Cannot in truth such blessings yield, 

Nor there have heavenly ones their birth : 
'Tis vain the thought ! Though I were there, 
I still this evil heart would bear 

And meet but dwellers on the earth. 
Yet thus I love midst visible things. 
That busy hope which to me brings 

Such heavenly sights as like them seem ; 
For there is such a better land, 
And I upon its shores shall stand, 

Eis'n from a darker, deeper stream. 



THE VIEW ACROSS THE RIVER. 61 

Eeceiving there, in Christ, my part, 
Sin's latest snare shall flee my heart, 

That here with temptings doth oppress ; 
The Foe who here doth oft alarm 
Shall lose all power to do me harm, 

And God my upward path shall bless. 
Toil shall not there mix with my song, 
Nor shall I, when my task is done. 

Find motives mingled so therein. 
That e'en my work most perfect, must 
Become a thing of simple trust. 

Lest it be counted wholly sin. 

glorious day ! wished for morn. 
Still with rich hues my skies adorn. 

But burn not forth too dazzling bright ; 
Lest I faint here 'midst griefs and pains, 
Nor patient bear what yet remains. 

With Heaven so opened to my sight ! 



62 



SILENT INFLUENCES. 



The sunshine silent falls upon the bud, 
No voice doth answer, but the secret cell 
"Within, enlargeth, and the embryo hid 
Swells and perfects itself to the full flower. 
The writer sits in some lone room apart, 
He utters there no word, his arm toils not, 
He holds his pen, and as an idler seems ; 
Yet from that quietude do thoughts come forth 



SILENT INFLUENCES. 63 

That, as with wings, do fly from heart to heart. 
O'er the wide world, with moving influence. 

It is not by the sound nor show without 
We judge of the result. He who doth all. 
Curbing this fleeting world and all the stars, 
Doeth it silently. Canst thou stand forth 
Far in the forest, when each early shoot 
Peeps from the rugged bark, and every blade 
From the moist earth springs up in its own place — • 
Canst thou hear then a whisp'ring 'mong the leaves. 
New waked to life? Or canst thou from on high 
Discern the voice that calls them ? From the world 
That marks the limit of an angel's flight 
To this our lower world ; from this again 
To that most distant in the opposite space. 
An unseen silent influence pervades, 
And in harmonious order holds all things. 



64 



CHRIST'S HELP AND ALL-SUFFICIENCY. 



Easy 'twere to work my soul's undoing, 
Did not Jesus guard Life's narrow way ; 

Day by day my wasted strength renewing, 
Helping his own precepts to obey. 

Or the sore temptation he remove th, 
When he sees me weak and prone to fall ; 

In my bare escape his love he proveth, 
As when strong I triumph over all. 



Christ's help and all-sufficiency. 65 

Not to me the glory then remaineth, 

When some secret purpose to fulfil, 
Still He nerves my arm until it gaineth 

Yictories surpassing mine own skill. 

Nor should it depress, if with His favor 

To the lowliest station I am led ; 
Or while there my weak, sincere endeavor, 

Thwarted is and naught accomplished. 

All mankind are willing to adore him 
While his service yields but this world's gain ; 

Give me rather grace to walk before him, 
Faithful still, though suffering loss and pain. 

Surely such the Saviour hath selected 
On their hearts His image to impress ; 

Shall I murmur — wish myself rejected 
From their number whom He most doth bless ? 



66 Christ's help and all-sufficiency. 

If I robbed were of each eartbly treasure, 
And meanwhile my soul no increase knew ; 

In such loss beholding His displeasure, 
I might utter lamentations due. 

But though outwardly abased, forsaken, 
While within, Christ's presence I can find. 

Looking to Him, with a trust unshaken. 
Not one want shall move my steadfast mind. 



67 



MORNING. 



This is the dawning time. The early light 
That comes before the sun, doth but dilute 
And faintly tinge the darkness. I awake 
And hear no sound. Then on the stony street 
The wagon rumbles, lonely, from afar, 
Freighted with fruits from distant smiling fields. 
Soon passeth by the quick and sounding tread 
Of the head-workman, early at his post. 



68 MORNING. 

The beams grow bright, and with soft call arouse 
Thousands from sweet rest ! Now they are let in 
At chamber windows. Upright on the bed, 
Propped amid pillows, stayed and wrapped about, 
The baby babbling sits, while from their tasks 
Those who around put on their day's attire, 
Oft run to chirrup and clap hands with him ! 

But from the sick man's room th' unwelcome beams 

Are driven back, and one imprisoned ray 

Is given entrance. He has found, at length. 

The wished-for slumber. Heavily sounds his breath; 

Th' array of vials in disorder round. 

May not be righted now. A form steals in 

On tiptoe, casting first an anxious glance 

Upon the sleeper — motions then to her. 

Who watcheth by him to her turn of rest. 

Tread softly! breathe not loud, lest he awake! 

Is he a Christian, he for whom Death fights ? 



MORNING. 69 

what a mighty foe, and what small force 

We muster 'gainst him in the battling hour ! 

A feeble woman, armed with mixtures, draughts, 

Drops and dilutions that the well man scorns ; 

Is this all we can bring ? Must the loved one, 

The tender mother or the only child. 

The strong man or the monarch from his throne, 

Come thus to die, not compassed round with power, 

But in a darkened chamber, all alone ? 

Fit me, then, for this hour ! If earthly might. 

Or riches, or the power of intellect. 

Can cope not with it, wrap my soul about 

With what this King of Terrors cannot pierce. 

Give me the shield of Faith, wherewith to quench 

His fiery darts. To right and left gird on 

Armor of Eighteousness. Cover my head 

With th' helmet of Salvation. Plant my feet 

Firmly on Gospel ground. Within my hand 

Bestow that Sword which fights not with the flesh. 



70 MORNING. 

But which is spiritual, for I here 

Would rather win, than on all fields beside ! 



71 



DUSK. 



Thou scarce canst see by this dim light 
Yonder where mingled shadows fall, 
Touching almost the ceiling's height, 
A nail driven part way in the wall. 
In years long gone — I count them not — 
My sister hung upon that spot 
The cage that held her singing bird ; 
Trilling all day, its notes were heard, 



72 DUSK. 

Seeming thanksgivings for her care, 
Sending sweet music everywhere. 
Now, were she sitting by ray side 

Still, when the recollection came, 
'Twere one that might a time abide; 

Much since hath changed, much is the same, 
The smile might greet it or the tear, 
But — that sweet spirit is not here ! 

• Is it not strange that at this hour, 

When all her past crowds to my breast, 
One lone remembrance comes with power 

Eising undimmed above the rest ? 
That of an unkind word by me 
Which she once wept at, silently. 
Why doth it thus come ? 'Twas forgiven, 

And blotted, as I trust, above. 
From the recording book of heaven. 

Were there no words of tender love 



DUSK. 73 

That, as I muse to-night alone, 

Might bring me joy from those years gone? 

Ah, not on such an errand sent 

Speeds thither the unwelcome thought, 
For me a better gift is meant. 

To me instruction it hath brought. 
The present shall become the past, 

Even as the former years have fled. 
May I not, lingering till the last. 

Count those still round me with the dead? 
The word to-day, told in the ear. 

That makes some wounded heart to burn, 
May, when that heart shall not be here. 

Back to my bosom, barbed, return. 

The lost cannot our sorrow know. 

Nor at our call attend us more. 
E'en though we would but speak our woe. 

And pardon for our faults implore. 



74 



But to the living we may prove, 
By daily cliarities sincere, 

The Christian's true and lasting love : 
So, should Death's dreaded messenger 
First unto them his summons bear, 

And from our sight their forms remove. 
Not self-reproach, with torturing sting. 
Shall noiseless, fleet-winged Memory bring. 

But comfort, e'en amid our tears, 

Shall rise with thoughts of bygone years. 



75 



MIDNIGHT. 



Flickeeing within its socket, weak, 

My candle scarce doth hold its flame ; 
It sinketh now — now doth it seek, 

Eunning swift down the wick again, 
To draw new life and sustenance 
As it was wont to draw it thence. 
Slow it returns, the store is done, 
Now but a glimmer 'tis become— 
'Tis fainter, fainter — it is gone ! 



76 MIDNIGHT. 

But the spark left is not quite fled, 
It sends forth wreaths of smoke o'erhead, 
It varieth like the flame before — 
Plays the same game to hope once more 
Till it too darkens, and is dead. 

I marvel not that men have seen, 

Ever in this slight incident, 
Pictured that moment when hath been 

A summons to the spirit sent — 
So doth the body hoard its breath, 
And yield unwillingly to death ; 

But looking, let us not forget 
That all of languor imaged there 

Is of the flesh — unfolding, yet. 
The soul doth but its wrappings wear. 

Which, loosened, falling off at length, 
Leave it, for glory or despair. 

Indued with new, sustaining strength. 



MIDNIGHT. 77- 

Methinks, at siicli a time and place 

Did heavenly heralds, as of old, 
Meet and speak with us, face to face, 

I might celestial converse hold. 
He who, by darkness compassed round, 
Slumb'ring upon the desert ground, 

Saw angels in th' illumined air 

Ascending and descending there, 
While One above more glorious stood, 
Lay not in deeper solitude. 

But this may not be ; day nor night 

Shall yet unveil Him to my sight, 

Who, from all flesh, hath hid in Light. 

Yet exiled here, far from the skies. 

Groping midst this world's gloom about — • 

My lamp obscured by mists that rise. 
Not of the Truth, but mine own doubt, 

I've said. To see Him with mine eyes, 
that some path might find Him out ! 



MIDNIGHT. 

So foolisli am I ? — Hath His word 

Then ceased? or is His providence 
"With daily utterance no more heard ? 

Turn I from these to grosser sense ? 
Should some pure Seraph, even now, 

In answer to my call appear, 
Bright from the throne where such do bow — 

Doth not a still voice, yet more near 
Whisper all that I then might hear? 
Thus might he speak : Though mine it were 

To minister, I could impart 
To thee no more abounding light 

Than that now shed upon thine heart. 
"Wandering long since in rayless night 

Thy Saviour found thee. On a way 
He placed thy feet that upward led, 

Yet told thee dark clouds round it lay ; 
Thy soul rejoiced, was comforted 

Through darkness even, to hope for day. 



MIDNIGHT. 79 

Now, dost thou murmur, faint and pine 
Because those promised clouds are thine? 

Think'st thou such mists can blind His eye. 

Or, faithless. He hath passed thee by ? 
Canst thou not trust? Be still, man. 

And when 'midst shadows thou must wait, 
Know they are part of love's great plan — 

Kemember now thy first estate ! 

Weary not of thine earthly days — 

Cut off from them, how couldst thou rear 
An offering to thy Maker's praise ? 

Nor let thine earthly task appear 
Beneath thee ; and in secret cry, 

All things are brief and fleeting here — 
My soul doth loathe them, let me die ! 

Did he who first unearthed the gem 

That decks some royal diadem. 
Or dug the gold that clasps it now 
Above a monarch's lofty brow. 



80 ' MIDNIGHT. 

Know then, toward what high aim he wrought, 
Or see that fair Grown in his thought? 

So is thy task to thee unknown; 
But when it shall be done at last, 
These fleshly garments from thee cast, 

And earth's vast house of toil o'erthrowp. 

Its full end shall to thee be shown; 
Each dark day's purpose shalt thou see 
In some joy of Eternity. 

Nor wouldst thou then, that one sad care 

Of all so grievous now to bear. 
Had been removed or made more light. 
For plainly opened to thy sight 

Shall be the mystic union 

Which joins, when sorrows here are done. 

Earth's woes and Heaven's bliss, in one. 



81 



THE BEAUTIFYING POWER. 



The moss that clings about the prostrate trunk, 

Clothing it, as in regal velvet dress. 

While it decays where once it towering stood, 

Turns the dead, loathsome ruin to a thing 

That feeds life and becomes an ornament. 

The gloomy forest is adorned by it 

Rather than marred. So where the barren rock 

Lifts its forbidding form against the side 



82 THE BEAUTIFYING POWER. 

Of some steep hill, tlie bulwark of its height, 

Not long it bare remains. , The Columbine 

In clusters here and there on every ledge, 

Up to the very summit, finds a home. 

And decks its dusky face with scarlet flowers. 

There is a Power pervading all the earth 

That quick transmuteth homeliest things to fair. 

And makes of necessary change and wreck 

New beauty. If the mind unprejudiced 

Might contemplate the works that power displays, 

It would adore the Intellect Supreme 

Who is their author, for the evidence 

They are themselves of such a Sovereign Head. 

But what man fain would imitate, is left 

Without an author, by man's unbelief! 

If he who counterfeits the landscape well 

Grows famous, by his hand's mere copying skill, 

What shall be said of His exhaustless thought 

Who planned the mountains; laid the vales between; 



THE BEAUTIFYING POWER. 83 

Clothed them with verdure; watered them with streams? 

His was the first design of every flower; 

He mingled all their hues. The landscape green, 

And desert waste, were robed as He saw fit. 

He led the river to the mountain's verge 

And poured it forth, the sounding cataract ! 



I 



84 



THE SNOW-STOEM. 



The feathery flakes are dancing in tlie air ; 
How subtle must that influence be which draws 
Each one down from its flight ! So slight they seem, 
The viewless winds might be their dwelling-place 
Where they should still abide. Within my glance 
Millions now slow descend ; they whirl — turn back, 
Climb toward the skies again — far from their course 
Are driven ere they reluctant touch the earth ; 



THE SNOW-STORM. 85 

Yet o'er this field the spotless covering 
Eests, smoothly spread, as though some master hand 
Had, after, levelled it, or counted out 
The layers in each pile. From yonder cloud 
O'erhanging us, the silent messengers fall, 
Which thus doth waste itself and back return 
Its substance to the earth, whence it was drawn. 
From the deep sea — the broad and mighty river, 
Or rivulets and dews, it woo'd you up, 
Ye countless drops, now fettered in my sight, 
Each in its crystal prison. Oh, how fair 
This wintry scene ! Not that it should endure, 
Else would it tire the eye and bolt the doors 
Of earth's most bounteous storehouse; but thus shown 
'Midst nature's ever-shifting imagery. 
How beautiful ! Nor beautiful alone. 
But 'neath these white folds, closely covered lies 
The autumn's wheat, unreached by nipping winds ; 
So that th' untainted sheet a robe becomes — • 
7 



86 THE SNOW-STOKM. 

A fitting garment — that doth nurture life. 
Flung o'er the hills and 'midst the wild ravines, 
It melts and gently trickles, drop by drop, 
Into the secret cisterns of the springs, 
Which hoard the precious store for summer's need. 
He who doth shiver with the cold, and fault 
The snow's thick fall to-day, shall bathe his brow 
Yet in some fountain, 'neath a sultry noon, 
And though he knew it not, be blessed in it! 

But what is there in this our fallen world, 

Which bringeth benefits, and in itself 

Is harmless — that hath from its first intent 

Not been diverted by our sins ? The breath 

That cools the sick man's cheek hastes on its way 

Till it becomes the tempest, dealing death; 

The dew-drop that scarce bends the pendent flower. 

Once helped to drown the mountain-tops. So ye 

Soft, feathery snow-flakes, gathered high above 



THE SNOW-STORM. 87 

Some sleeping hamlet, wlien the breath of Spring 

Hath loosed your frozen grasp, come thundering down 

The mountain Avalanche ! Or fruitful vales, 

Between high lifted peaks, ye do fill up. 

Denying the soft earth to hungering, mouths 

And willing hands. But further toward the poles 

Ye sea and land wrap in enduring bonds. 

Capping the globe with ice. "What clothes this field 

In white — this landscape in an innocent robe 

That guards the embryo root and melting pours 

Kefreshing drops o'er all beneath, there spreads 

A stony, frigid wilderness afar. 

Nursing fierce storms — sending them o'er the earth 

On errands of destruction. 

'Midst thy works 
I dwell, Lord ! their kindly influences 
Eeceiving, and their countless visible charms 
Looking upon with joy; yet well I know 
There is not one but, clothed with power by thee, 



3 THE SNOW-STORM. 

May in a moment wound me. Still I live, 
Not fearful, but assured that Thy command 
O'erruleth all; rejoicing in the word 
That every creature worketh for his good 
Who loveth thee, I wait from day to day 
Their various messages ; nor would I dread 
That, which at last, by some such hand may come, 
Calling me from this changing world below 
To where no winter comes or storms e'er blow ; 
But where the soul, by guiltless blood made clean, 
Shall Him behold, whom here it loved unseen, 
And in His presence saved, life's conflict o'er, 
Ne'er know of cold, nor heat, nor tempest more. 



89 



SINGLENESS OF PUEPOSE. 



The wild flower of tlie forest hangs 
Its purple liead mid deepest shade, 

Swift comes the bee on sounding wing 
And sips the sweets within it laid. 

His weight bends down the slender stalk, 
While gathering his load he swings, 

Now almost to the sod beneath. 

Now from it borne, aloft he springs ! 



SINGLENESS OF PURPOSE. 

Not long lie waits, nor at each flower 
He rifles, when his task is done, 

Doth wait to mark its varied tints 
Or count again his treasures won. 

But stayed not, seeking more, he flies 
O'er waving field, through wood and glen, 

And when his glossy sides are full, 
Home hastens to the hive again. 

So while life's ever onward march, 
Through checkered seasons I pursue, 

May I keep uppermost in thought 
The service laid on me to do. 

May pleasures found on duty's path. 
Like wild flowers yielding nectar sweet. 

Nor woes, that spring by the same road, 
Divert my steadfast going fefet ! 



SINGLENESS OP PURPOSE. 91 

But faithful to my Saviour's cause, 
And true to those with whom I share 

Its labors — till the work is done, 
May I my full proportion bear. 

Then shall I roam through endless days 
Where toil mars not the pathway blest, 

Nor sin th' exulting soul betrays : 

But where the soul its God obeys 
And, in obedience, finds Eest. 



92 



THE PEESENT. 



The Present, with its portion, though that be 
Increased an hundred fold from days gone by, 
Seems ill provided, and we still go poor. 
What once was coveted, now being won. 
Is valued not — 'tis needful to be prized 
That it should still lie just beyond our reach. 
Poor recompense to Him who gives us all 
And marks th' effect, what larger gratitude 



THE PKESENT. 93 

Or quickened growth in grace. Let it not be 
Thus with my heart. As one cast from the wreck 
While he stands dripping on the rocky coast, 
And sees his fellow's lifeless form washed in, 
Feels grateful still, tho' he some wealth hath lost— 
So let me feel, and gaze still at the want 
That I am saved from — at the penury, 
Disease, and woe, on millions round me laid, 
Eather than midst so great deliverance 
Kepine or murmur for one good gift more ! 



94 



THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 



Daily, to my froward little child, 
Am I pointing out tlie better way. 

Teaching to be humble, patient, mild. 
Ever for a heart renewed to pray. 

But how often, even while I speak, 

Conscience echoes back the warning word ; 

Do I for myself these graces seek ? 
Is my ceaseless prayer, ascending, heard ? 



THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 95 

In the very faults that I reproye, 

Angrily, perchance, with look severe, 

Mingling harsh rebuke with little love, 
Mine own errors, imaged forth, appear. 

And if they the infant breast defile, 
Odious in their least confirmed degree. 

How much more the measure of their guile 
Shows matured and fully ripe in me ! 

Oh, I am unworthy to fulfil 

This exalted trust, to me assigned ; 
Who am I to curb the rebel will ? 

Who to reillume the darkened mind? 

Yet I may not lay this trust aside. 

Nor refuse these souls who claim my care ; 

Though more guilty, their guilt I must chide; 
Hurt myself, their wounds I must repair. 



96 THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 

But liow should it calm each angry thought, 
And lend meekness to parental sway, 

That, while these to me for stripes are brought, 
I deserve to suffer more than they ! 



97 



SEVERITY AND GENTLENESS. 



While slumber close sealed up my sight, 
Methought from some far aerie's height 
An Eagle touched me in his flight ! 
I seized the bird, and struggling tried 
T' imprison him fast by my side: 
Long did he furious battle wage ! 
Hurt, I oft struck at him in rage ! 
But while I wounded him the more 
Deeper my bleeding side he tore. 



98 SEVERITY AND GENTLENESS. 

Until at length, I, strangely moved, 
Stroked his fierce head as one who loved ; 
When lo, he ceased — he lay at rest, 
Harmless, at peace, upon my breast, 
And I saw in the vision fair, 
Now 'twas a Dove that nestled there ! 



99 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



While sings tlie grasshopper, and the bright sun 
Pours o'er the golden grain his ripening heat, 

And through green valleys hidden streamlets run 
Wide parted, all in ocean's depths to meet : 

Then the frail Butterfly with trembling flight, 
And wavy track thro' the midsummer air. 

O'er field and highway in the workman's sight 
Flits like a thought unwritten, yet most fair ! 



100 THE BUTTERFLY. 

Look, where it lights upon some clover head, 
Swaying its wings, as to its own faint breath ! 

Now lifted up, now lowered and outspread, 
They show the tints above and underneath. 

Bring hither the great artist ; let him tell 
If with his pencil dipped in every hue, 

He could such tiny pinion deck so well, 
Or so with beauty a winged fly indue? 

Eare jewels for the brow of dust we set; 

With robes these dying forms we decorate ; 
Each rich adornment man hath fashioned yet, 

By contrast, telleth of his low estate. 

But He whose power doth all those works prepare. 
That clothe with glory, sea and earth and sky. 

Unto the least, of such grace gives a share, 
That it proclaims His Sovereign Majesty. 



101 



GOD'S GREATEST WORK. 



Thy visible works, Lord, display all forms 

That matter, lifeless and inanimate, 

Can shape to shadow thy perfections forth 

And Power Supreme. The mountains where they rear 

Their peaks, until they challenge the swift clouds ; 

The valleys spread beneath and in their laps 

Holding the food of nations ; the deep sea 

Peopled by viewless myriads ; the skies 



102 god's greatest work. 

With store as numberless of shining worlds ; 

These all proclaim Thy majesty, but all 

Might in their present grandeur be outspread, 

And yet tell nothing of Eedeeming Love. 

'Tis in thy death alone I may behold 

That great Salvation it hath wrought for me ! 

And therefore, more than all the rest, I prize 

This Thy most wondrous work. I look abroad 

And feast upon that varied, rich display 

Which men call Nature, but from it soon turn 

Unsatisfied, to gaze upon the Cross. 

For Nature's charms are fleeting, and the time, 

Appointed them, makes haste to be fulfilled ; 

But Thy Death, in its gifts unto my soul, 

And in its revelation of thy love. 

Shall then but be unfolded, when these scenes 

Dissolve midst flames ; while I, with Heaven's glad hosts. 

Strike my new harp, in rapture, to the theme ! 



103 



PHCEBE ANN JACOBS' COTTAGE.^ 



Within this little house alone 

Dwelt one who to the heavens hath gone. 

Of lowliest race, to bondage born, 

No lofty deeds her life adorn ; 

She rested here at each day's close, 

Here with the morn to labor rose. 

Poor was she, and her dwelling poor, 

I would have blushed to change with her ; 

* See American Tract Society's Tract No. 536. 



104 PIKEBE ANN JACOBS' COTTAGE. 

But where on liigli the angels bow, 
Would I might share her mansion now ! 

Oft have I seen her toiling nigh 

Or, thoughtless, oft have passed her by 

And spoken kindly, for all knew 

Her blameless walk, her goodness true ; 

Yet did I never realize 

That here dwelt one so near the skies. 

The hushed and silent midnight air 
From here hath borne aloft her prayer; 
The dim faint dawn, the middle day. 
Evening, that sweeps day's beams away, 
The task yet scarce begun, or o'er, 
Have seen her close this humble door, 
And go within, alone, to pray. 
This very room that stoops so low, 
Knew joys the Palace scarce may know, 



PHCEBE ANN JACOBS' COTTAGE. 105 

When to the waiting heart prayer brings 
To banquet there, the King of kings. 

It was within these narrow walls, 
At some unknown hour of the night, 

Death stood, as when the soul he calls, 
Slow rising on the failing sight. 

Throughout the land, an hour before. 

He knocked at many a rich man's door, 

And heard the cry of agony. 

The prayer within : Oh, pass me by ! 

But when he reached this lowly cot. 

The prayer was. Ah, pass by me not ! 

And Death himself stood rev'rently. 

Tell me, my soul, now none are nigh. 
And we may commune secretly. 
Though thou wert offered Genius, Power, 
Fame, Kiches, for the dying hour. 



106 PHCEBE ANN JACOBS' COTTAGE. 

Wouldst thou not all of them forego, 
And rather want and suffering know, 
If but at last, his dreaded dart 
Might come so welcomed to thy heart? 
Yet poverty and suffering 
Cannot, themselves, such blessing bring, 
Nor, without them, is it denied ; 
For poor for rich, for small for great, 
For thee, whate'er thine earthly state, 
Jesus, a willing Saviour died. 

But thou must seek his follower's part, 
And to his service yield thy heart, 
Whatever else thou hast, or art, 

Counting for Him, but loss ; 
Then shalt thou know, in life and death. 
Their peace who, with Him, walk by faith ; 

Their joy, who bear His Cross. 



107 



THE EAGLE. 



Between two mountains, o'er a river's bed, 
An Eagle rose one cloudless summer's morn, 

In widening circles sailing overhead, 
At each majestic sweep, still upward borne. 

I silent stood upon a rocky height, 

That hung the water's troubled bosom o'er, 

And watched him rise, till on my aching sight 
His form appeared against the void no more. 



108 THE EAGLE. 

Then looking down again from the far blue 
tJpon the river, through the empty air, 

Still it was beautiful, and yet I knew 
Something was wanting — it had shone more fair! 

Methought, Thou art an emblem, soaring bird, 
Of the true Christian pilgrim on his way; 

His viewless path, his sleepless step unheard. 
Tend ever upward toward the perfect day ! 

And as I miss thee now, and all this scene, 
For thy departure, saddens in mine eyes. 

So, where Christ's faithful follower hath been, 
All things are losers as he seeks the skies. 



109 



THE SEA-COAST CAVE. 



Under a rocky coast, the hunter, borne 
In his slight skiff, a narrow opening sees, 
Left by descending tides. With trembling hand, 
Slowly and watchfully, he entereth in. 
Stooping to the low entrance. Lo, how grand 
A temple for such door ! The cave ascends 
To a vast height, while he sits silently 
Booking on the black billow ! From his side 
Up, up aloft with glittering crystals hung. 



110 THE SEA-COAST CAVE. 

The walls do climb, till meeting o'er Ms head, 
They cover him with shadows. Where the waves 
Break gently 'gainst the rock, each blow resounds, 
And he, one word of wonder uttering, hears 
Unnumbered voices from th' inclosing night. 
Still borne along in awe — yet grown more bold — 
A distant sound salutes his ear : he floats 
Past many a dripping crag — 'neath arches grand, 
Till, from a steep before him, waters fall. 
The scene in dusky beauty is disclosed ! 
From the dark bowels of the earth they come, 
Here poured forth through a dim way to the sea. 
A snowy shaft of Stalactite stands up, 
Beside the cat'ract, o'ergrown with some vine. 
Nature, how deep dost thou touch the soul. 
And how calls thy mute language ! As these caves 
Burrow beneath man's knowledge, from the day, 
So speaks that language, witnessing of God, 
In the heart's depths, where even we look not ! 



Ill 



PEAISE. 



As everytliing in Nature, from the star 

That sparkles in the zenith, to the worm 

That on the earth I tread beneath my feet, 

Telleth of a Creator — and as more 

We do unfold its parts, it telleth more 

Of that Creator's wisdom, goodness, power; 

So I could wish that every thought drawn forth, 

And image, from the storehouse of my mind, 

Might speak thanksgiving ! and as from the depths, 



112 PRAISE. 

Deeper within that treasury it was born, 

So it might higher rise in rendering praise. 

Praise is the one great utterance ! the song 

Of all things round me ! Nature in her haunts, 

And man as I behold him, for the sum 

Of all his acts and checkered history 

Is the fulfilling of a supreme will. 

Not that God moves to sin, but man intent 

Upon his purpose, wealth or pleasure here, 

Chooseth his way, but God appoints the end ! 

God's enemies do praise him, for their zeal 

In guilt he turneth to his own account. 

Making them strive unconsciously for good. 

The wicked have been scourges in his hand 

To scourge their fellows ; or their stripes laid on 

Have humbled saints whom pride held back from heaven. 

The righteous praise Him, even when they fall, 

And miss the path, in that true penitence 

Which weeping doth retrace each erring step. 



113 



PRAYER. 



Oh, wondrous Power, by which alone, 

I, born to want and poverty, 
May climb to Heaven's far courts unknown, 
Yea, pass up to the very Throne, 

How am I poor possessing thee? 



114 PRAYER. 

I stand on eartli, thou lift'st me hence — 

I reach to those blest heights divine, 
I touch their loftiest eminence, ' 

I joys immortal pluck from thence. 
And fill my bosom — they are mine ! 



115 



PEACE IN TEOUBLE. 



Among the wonders of God's power 
Is tliat it can bring us peace, 

While the dreaded blow descends, 
While the joys we cherished cease. 

'Tis not that the stroke is light. 
Or that we should count it small; 

But the grace that with it comes 
Sanctifies and sweetens all. 



116 PEACE IN TKOUBLE. 

Yet this blessing is reserved 
Only for the smitten heart ; 

He alone the balm may taste 
Who hath felt the bitter smart. 

Thou may'st less of sorrow know, 
It may be high heaped o'er me, 

But a feast for me is spread 
That was never spread for thee. 

Not that I am thus upheld. 
While thy steps are left to slide ; 

Mine are heavier weights of grief, 
Mine are fuller joys beside. 

Why should I from trouble shrink. 
Or new woes refuse to bear. 

If they are Christ's messengers. 

Charged with blessings rich and rare ? 



peacp: in trouble. 117 

Not beneath unclouded skies, 

Not midst smooth prosperity, 
Doth it please our risen Lord 

We his form most plain should see. 

But when storm and tempest blow, 

Then he calls us by our name ; 
While beneath us rolls the flood, 

While around us roars the flame. 



118 



AWAKING AT NIGHT. 



I WOKE far in the silent night, 
The taper burned upon the floor; 

Methought : Thus may return my sight 
When I shall wake to sleep no more. 

Suppose One at my bedside rose, 
And said, Thy life has passed away ; 

Morn shall for thee no light disclose, 
Nor usher in returning day. 



AWAKING AT NIGHT. 119 

Just as thou wast, in all the same, 

Yet in thy sleep insensibly, 
Swiftly this night thy spirit came 

From time into Eternity. 

Oh ! what deep anguish would it cost 

To have, for years of earthly care, 
Nothing, in place of all then lost. 

No treasure laid up for me there; 
No Friend, no Advocate, alone 

I to appear before the Throne ! 

Take it to heart, my perilled soul, 

Nor these as idle fancies deem. 
That like the midnight mists up roll 

Dissolved with morning's earliest beam. 

Soon shalt thou come into that state, 
And fears now dim, obscured, afar, 



120 AWAKING AT NIGHT. 

There all disclosed thee await, 

Brought nearer than thy joys now are. 

Trust not in life. How few of all 
The millions that have passed away 

Eeceived, when they looked for, the call, 
Or met prepared the fatal day ! 



121 



UNBELIEF. 



I HAVE been tempted to repine, and doubt 
Ever comes nearly yoked with discontent ; 
For if I murmur and reproach my lot, 
Though I refuse to speak the open charge, 
Yet he who shapes that lot goes not unblamed. 
Can I esteem this life bestowed on me, 
As but an evil gift, and look upon 
The pain that sometimes wounds it, as a thing 



122 UNBELIEF. 

That more than weighs down all its part of good — 
Can I thus judge, and daily from His hand 
Eeceive my portion, honoring my God? 
Beware, my soul ! thou hast an enemy 
Who comes not undisguised with open front, 
But who, while thou complainest doth steal in. 
And where from Heaven hath been implanted Faith, 
Nurtures the hidden seeds of unbelief. 

Oh what a magic glass the Tempter hath. 
By which our sorrows do as worlds appear, 
Our blessings but as scattered grains of sand ! 
Destroy his wiles, Father, and give light 
To see the kind apportionings of thy hand. 
Let me, who do as Truth adore thy ways. 
Ne'er seek th' unfolding of those ways from him 
Who is to Truth the foe. All troubles here 
Help me to bear as burdens that are light 
When weighed against my true and just desert. 



UNBELIEF. 123 

And 0, more than the rest, arm me against 

That dark allurement which would lead me forth, 

Finite, into the infinite abyss 

Of secret purposes, known but to Thee, 

Lest I should, there, demand things unrevealed 

And all too high. As but a little child 

Make me in simple and unquestioning faith. 

Rob me of whate'er seems to be a gift 

(But is, in truth, my poverty and want) 

If it would bare what thou still keepest veiled, 

Or for my blindness, lessen filial love. 



124 



WHO HATH PRESEEYED ME. 



I KNOW that liad I tempted been 
At many a point along my way, 

I should have fallen from the faith, 
Or sinned beneath the open day 

Of gospel truth and gospel light, 

And changed their glorious noon to night. 



WHO HATH PRESERVED ME. 125 

It was not that I shunned the ill, 

Or held in check the bad desire ; 
I relished sin, and rather sought 

To rouse anew its slumbering fire ; 
But thou didst bind my hands in toil, 
Or wily adversaries foil. 

So, when I look upon the past. 

And trace the steps already trod, 
I find my footprints on the brink 

Where by the dread abyss I stood, 
And know it was against my will 
They were held from advancing still. 

As he who holds his helpless child 

When danger or the foe alarms, 
Now guiding his unwary feet, 

Now bearing him within his arms, 
So God hath held my hand thus far 
Through all sin's life-long, truceless war. 



WHO HATH PRESERVED ME. 

But this was no more than his love 
At first did for me, when it gave 

To a rebellious spirit, lost, 

Eepentance, pardon, faith to save, • 

Which not my erring heart e'er sought, 

But his far-reaching mercy brought. 

Brought me at first, and turned my feet, 
From where they wandered far astray. 

Into the narrow Path of Life ; 

Then, led them up that Heavenward way. 

And yet shall lead, until I rise. 

On Mercy's wings, borne to the skies. 



127 



THE SEOEET SIN. 



Can I in secret cherisli now this Sin, 
And liope to reap not, some time, punishment ? 
What though I it confess not to myself. 
And utter forth anew each morn a prayer 
Against the tempter, when as eve comes on 
1 welcome him again with smiling look ? 
Is there uncertainty or blinding doubt 
Between me and my fault ? Can I not tell 
Whether 'tis mine or laid on me unknown ? 



128 THE SECRET SIN. 

Ah yes, the turning of my ear away 
From the loud condemnation of my heart, 
Drowns not that inward sense which needs no tongue 
To tell me I am guilty ! And if guilt 
1 I thus permit to spread with clinging root, 
I know with blood it must be plucked at length. 
The terms whereon we hold our inward peace 
Have not been changed, nor is the sleepless eye 
That marks each taker of Christ's covenant. 
Dimmed that it cannot see. His chastening arm 
Still doth exist and hoard its dreaded strength, 
When nothing hurts, and we, secure, sin on. 
As in the moment when descends its blow 1 
What then is needed ? That these wav'rings cease 
Between indulgence and infirm regret : 
That I let conscience cry into my ear. 
How but to taste of what we dare not drink, 
Partakes in the true nature of the deed 
Of the full crime, and shares its penalty. 



THE SECRET SIN. • 129 

For look, my soul, how thou art hemmed within 

Cherished possessions ! These are all a mark 

For the correcting shaft, or may become 

As instruments of torture. Are there not 

Some bound to thee by such close union 

They seem to be not of a separate life. 

But part of self, and self's most tender part? 

Let danger touch them — or but breathe upon, 

How dost thou tremble ! Pleasures that have led 

Thee upon doubtful paths for many years, 

Holding thee chained by their returning spell. 

Do in that moment lose their prolonged power, 

Their fascinations turned to loathed defects, 

Thou hatest them — because linked with the thought 

Of retribution now poured on the head 

Of one whose wounds bleed chiefly in thyself! 

Yet may such pay the forfeit, if the love 

Thou hast for Him who bids thee put away 

All known sin for His sake, can move thee not. 



130 



WITHOUT AND WITH THE CROSS. 



While, at my ease, I trod the Christian course, 
With many good gifts clustering round my lot, 

Prone to forget them, or their heavenly source, 
That peace I should have known, I tasted not. 

Some cares were left that I would have removed, 
Some weaknesses that I would have made strong. 

Some things in doubt remained, I would have proved - 
Much was there in my portion that seemed wrong ; 



WITHOUT AND WITH THE CROSS. 131 

So that although I daily offered up 
My thanks to the Great Giver, and confessed 

I had a full, an overflowing cup, 
Yet did I go, in truth, as one unblessed. 

Thus was it till upon a time there came 

A cloud o'er my horizon. I discerned 
A threatened grief afar, which but to name 

My brightest morn to gloomy midnight turned. 

Oh, then, I saw those small adversities, 

Which had from greater good withdrawn mine eyes. 
Were as the spots the blinded gazer sees, 

Upon the sun at noonday in the skies ! 

I cried, in earnest prayer, but this remove, 
And discontent shall spoil my peace no more ; 

Eestore me as I was : my life shall prove 
That gratitude now felt, withheld before. 



132 WITHOUT AND WITH THE CROSS. 



I had the boon 1 asked. The sorrow feared 
Nor nearer drew. The cloud that rose in sight 

Dissolved again, and all serene appeared, 
As ere it first came forth, and yet more bright. 



And loud were my thanksgivings, but ere long 
The memory of this great deliverance, 

Dimmed by degrees and lapsing back to wrong, 
My heart repined and murmurs came from thence. 

When this I noted, while my conscious sin 
Brought fresh disquietude, methought I heard 

A voice thus speak : The Peace that reigns within 
By outward things nor lost is, nor conferred. 

Its life is separate, and rests alone 

Upon an unseen, heavenly supply. 
To him who goes beneath the Cross 'tis known ; 
There it will bloom when all earth's gifts are gone ; 

Elsewhere, amid their full possession, die ! 



133 



THE MIEROR. 



There 's not a fault that doth offend 
Or cause me grief, in foe or friend, 
But when I lay my own heart bare 
I find its likeness imaged there. 

Suspicion's charge unkindly spoken, 
Friendship's sweet trust, in secret broken, 
Though hid from others, oft hath been 
Mine own acknowledged bosom sin. 
10 



134 THE MIRROR. 

What love professed with selfish aim, 
What wrath that burns with cruel flame, 
Can I condemn to punishment 
And show my own hands free from taint? 

There is no evil thought confined, 
A guest in the polluted mind, 
But when I search my memory o'er 
Its footsteps have been there before. 

So it doth happen, that whene'er 
In others, guilty stains appear. 
The charge I would prefer, returns. 
And o'er my brow its impress burns. 



135 



THE DYING IIOUE. 



Often I think of it. Before the time 
It comes to test my labors — filled with light, 
Which sheds its own pure lustre o'er my works- 
Or sometimes wrapt in shadows. Oh, at night, 
The lonely, silent night, I have awaked. 
And thoughts of death have fallen over me 
Like horror of deep darkness ! All my toils. 
Those finished, those yet shaping in my hands, 



136 THE DYING HOUR. 

Then rose and stood as stern accusers forth, 
Urging my guilt — yea, even my holy things 
Did threaten me with Hell. And yet was this 
My folly ! I saw the deformity 
Of my stained life, but looked not on the robe 
That should with beauty cover it — an awe 
It was of God, unmingled with that love 
Which casts out fear. 

But sometimes as the Sun 
Thro' the dim chamber shoots a golden beam, 
So 'midst the doubts that darken oft my way 
In glorious fulness comes the knowledge down 
Of my relation — of that filial tie 
By which in truth I walk. Oh, then is mine 
What freedom ! With what liberty I go ! 
How gloomy fears, like mountains piled before. 
Melt to the plain ! Like one surprised with strength 
Who long hath halt been, as an hart I leap. 



THE DYING HOUR. 137 

But soon, by fault of mine, becomes too great 
This liberty — I lessen watchfulness. 
And so once more, with wisdom temp'ring love, 
God letteth pass a cloud. 

How changeful then 
And dull, some voice will say, must be such life ! 
Where is its privilege or peculiar peace? 
'Tis not the searching eye can find it out — 
The heart must harbor it ! God hath no path 
Laid down and measured, as man lays the rule 
By which he leads his own : each differeth 
In varied want, and needs a separate way. 
The bitter drops and sweet, are meted out. 
Mingled for every soul. But here is it 
Wherein all have their joy — th' assurance given 
That He hath chosen us, and that he brings 
Each, conqueror at last, through joy and woe — 
Yea, and through sin — to his eternal Kest. 



138 



HEEE AND HEEEAFTER. 



Here, our lots differ : some have store of wealth, 
Some do inherit power, some rich gifts, 
That in the circuits vast and flight of thought. 
Exalt them o'er their fellows. But all go 
Poor, stripped, alike into the other world ! 
Possessions, talents, power, no value have 
In the celestial estimate. One price 
And costly Gem alone, goes current there. 



HEKE AND HEREAFTER. 139 

He who in intellect ne'er reached our height, 

Who in his lot was lodged with our contempt, 

Who did group in his body all defects, 

If but possessed of This, shall show more fair 

And have more honor, than he lacking it 

Who reigned here, an3 at death bestowed a throne ! 



140 



CONFLICT. 



When looking on my heart, 

Its guilt I would confess 
More than the ready pen can write, 

Or fluent tongue express. 

I feel how true that word 
Once uttered with offence; 

O'er all things it deceitful is, 
Nor knoweth innocence ! 



CONFLICT. 141 

Wearied I grow and mourn 

The Conflict sore beneath, 
And cry: Who shall release me from 

The body of this death? 

The burden of my life 

Seems more than I can bear, 
Its evil things to outnumber 

The good, the true, the fair. 

Toward that swift coming hour 

Which nature most doth shun, 
T look and think its stoppings slow, 

Wishing my journey done. 

Yet rather than thus wish. 

Though death brings me no fear, 
Should I not seek for grace to live 

And do my duty here ? 



142 CONFLICT. 

'Tis but a coward's deed, 
As we approach the steep, 

To sigh for smoother steps beyond 
Or fold the arms in sleep. 

But this is not the part 

These hands are called to do ; 

Why should he gird his armor on 
Who fears the field to view ? 

With help sufficient now 
And triumph at the end, 

Can I not for my Master's cause 
One fleeting hour contend? 

If from his victor's throne 

Christ hath the promise given, 

That I shall vanquish all my foes 
And reim with him in heaven — ■ 



CONFLICT. 143 

'Twas to make strong my heart 

That so his word was passed, 
And shall I now refuse to strive 

Because assured at last? 

Is this my gratitude 

When thus his love appears ? 
Then had I served him best, shut up 

Midst gloomy doubts and fears. 

pilgrim Zionward, 

Who faints life's path to tread. 
Thou art unworthy of thy place ! 

Thou livest, yet art dead ! 

If the awed, trembling slave 

Hastes at his master's call. 
How much more should the son beloved 

Who is an heir to all ? 



144 CONFLICT. 

Shall creatures of an hour 

Their part ordained fulfil, 
While I, born for immortal joys, 
Eemain an idler, still ? 

Oh no, he last should turn 
And from the conflict fly, 

Who holds a pledge in God's own word 
Of final victory. \ 

The soul that in this war 

Can claim no heavenly Friend, 
May well recoil before the foe, 
And tremble for the end. 

But he who knows his trust 

And sees his triumph sure. 
Should with unfaltering step press on 
And be a warrior. 



CONFLICT. 145 

I will from sloth arise 

And weak discouragement; 
They fetters are to bind my arms, 

By one who hates me, sent. 

Nor is the rash desire 

To offer up my life 
A fruit of grace, while 'tis my part 

To mingle in its strife. 

Christ's friends and foes around. 

Where'er I stand, look on ; 
They courage take, or are dismayed, 

At each day lost or won. 

Trust then, my soul. His power 

Who thee release can give; 
When He calls, meet prepared death's hour; 
Till then, thy cross rejoicing bear 

And to His glory live. 



146 



THE NECESSITY OF FAITH. 



We are hemmed in by possibilities 

Of so great evil, that without a trust 

In One whose sway doth overreach them all, 

Our minds would be companioned but with fears. 

My body, hale to-day, may soon become 

The lodgment of some most abhorred disease. 

My intellect, now in its many parts 

Laid like the atoms of transparent glass, 



THE NECESSITY OF FAITH. 147 

Each in its place, but one in harmony, 

May by some shock be so disquieted 

That, order and all just proportion gone, 

Darkness shall fill the room and place of light. 

There is not one possession of my joy 

But as it is the more beloved as such, 

May so be changed into a heavier woe ! 

The currents that bring joy and sorrow down 

Are viewless, unknown, and beyond our reach. 

How could we live and bear the consciousness 

That it is thus, untroubled and at peace, 

If we held not this firm persuasion safe, 

That, not by chance, these currents ebb and flow, 

But as poured forth or held back by the hand 

Of One whose wisdom compasseth our fate — ■ 

Who better knows our need? From day to day, 

Save but for this, shut in the dark I go,. 

With treasures both to forfeit and to gain ; 

Yet never fearful save when letting slip 



148 THE NECESSITY OF FAITH. 

This sweet belief, I trust in mine own strength. 
Then am I tost and sore disquieted, 
Seeing how great my hazard, and how weak 
I am to combat, o'errule or defend ! 



149 



OMNISCIENCE. 



How different is God's view from ours 
We dimly scan a few dark hours, 
But before Him, as one page, lie 
The Past and all Futurity I 
We wait th' event that shall befall, 
He doth each in its order call. 
And ere the first had summed up all ! 
11 



150 OMNISCIENCE. 

To US, what hath been, is forgot, 
What shall be, yet unknown, is not; 
To Him all equidistant, clear, 
The age long gone, the moment here — 
Throughout Eternity's vast round 
Naught new nor old is, lost nor found ! 



151 



PEKFEOTION OF ALL GOD'S WOEKS, 



Tell me wliat hand invisible it is 
That through the far-off depths of forests wild, 
Scatters the seeds of fragrant, tinted flowers — • 
So that they spring 'midst the untrodden shade 
As in a garden, though no eye doth see ? 
Who is it from the circling firmament 
Draweth the clouds at evening toward the west. 
And drapes and groups them round the setting sun? 



152 PERFECTION OF ALL GOD'S WORKS. 

If bare and unadorned use alone 
Hath merit in God's sight, then why are these ? 
Or doth the rugged and deep-buried ore, 
Because of the strong particles it yields. 
More speak and magnify the Maker's praise 
Than the frail rose that useless o'er it blooms ? 
Beware ! His creatures all have use, and serve 
Somewhere within the scale and compass vast 
Of His designs, the purpose of their being. 



153 



THE SUMMER COTTAGE IN WINTER. 



This is the place where, when glad Spring 
Doth from the deep earth blossoms bring, 

I come, with those I love, to dwell. 
"Winter, Spring's brother, robed in snow, 
Not as some say, her envious foe, 

She greeteth here, and bids farewell ; 
While round the stream her warblers sing, 



154 THE SUMMER COTTAGE IN WINTER. 

And. this white cottage by its side. 
Lo, what a change ! Then, open wide 
Doors, windows, tempt the gentle air; 
Now, stripping field and forest bare, 
The winds, as for its ruin sent, 
Do shake this trembling tenement. 

I might be sad. The faithless thought 
To me by less is often brought. 

But I will rather think of when, 
Midst calmer hours, 'neath heavens serene, 

Sweet Summer will be here again, 
Waving her leafy robes of green. 

Soon shall break forth that milder day, 

Soon 'neath the shade my child shall play, 
Watching the robin twine his nest ; 

Or, grouped all on the river's brink. 
We'll stand in presence of the west. 

While down its steep the sun doth sink. 



THE SUMMER COTTAGE IN WINTER. 155 

For SO the full and bounteous scope 

Of the good promise gone before, 

That seed-time, harvest, autumn's store, 

Eevolving shall fail never more, 
Giveth me liberty to hope ! 

Only this one remembrance 

Driveth these glad thoughts blushing hence; 
It is that for long seasons past, 

Given me in this place of good, 
I at the Giver's feet have cast 

But moments brief of o^ratitude. 



156 



DAILY FALLS. 



"When Satan tempts our feet to stray 
Beyond that strait and narrow way 

Where pilgrims walk below, 
If his allurements we refuse 
And still that lowly pathway choose, 

How joyfully we go ! 



DAILY FALLS. 157 

But when we listen to his voice, 
As led to falter in our choice 

By his false argument, 
How soon our weakness is espied, 
How swift he hurries us aside, 

Though scarce we yield consent. 

Then, though we may not wander far 
From that path where our joys still are, 

But thither soon return ; 
How find we from our soul's sweet trust 
The strength, the peace, the gladness lost 

While we are left to mourn ! 

One step, one bad indulged desire. 
May smothered embers set on fire. 

Or let the wild flood in; 
The Tempter now must be withstood, 
We must now quickly stem the flood 

Or be o'erwhelmed by sin. 



158 DAILY FALLS. 

And when by long contention won, 
Or brief sharp strife, the fight is done, 

With all our sin confest. 
What deep discouragement, what pain 
That we have been ensnared again, 

Disturb and wound our breast. 

It is a time of doubts and fears. 
Of the bowed head and rising tears. 

Gloom seems to cover all; ' 
For then the Foe, baffled once more, 
Cries ; Thou shalt yet be given o'er 

And one day wholly fall. 

I know, Lord, so proud a heart 
As mine must often feel the smart. 

Its true estate to know ; 
That to look inward and behold 
Its vileness as a world unfold. 

Doth make me humbly go. 



DAILY FALLS. 159 

Yet I beseech tliee, only when 
I heed the Tempter's voice again, 

Leave me to be overthrown; 
And in thy mercy, soon restore 
My feet to the safe path once more 

When I my guilt am shown. 



160 



THE WEIGHT. 



Christ's followers, though forgiven, go not yet 
Wholly unburdened. Each one hath his load 
That holds him back ; or as he casts this off 
Another clings with firmer hold. The weight, 
If not without, is spiritual and unseen. 
If not an arm of flesh doth drag thee down, 
One viewless, grasps thy shoulder day by day. 
Always there is temptation. 'Tis the growth 



THE WEIGHT. 161 

Spontaneous of tlie ground on whicli we tread ; 

It doth pervade the atmosphere we breathe ; 

And still the fall'n heart, as it comes, makes room. 

Yet is there even 'neath its tainted touch 

A patience to attain ; not that which bids 

It welcome to the breast, or ever rests 

From strife against it, but which doth ward off 

Discouragement, and 'gainst our lot complaint. 

Infirmity is loss, and yet by it 

The Christian hath his gain. Cure my disease. 

And my Physician will return no more. 

There is an envious captive in my mind, 

Or shall I call it ruler ? Surely not 

The highest throne it fills there, yet its seat 

Is not unclothed of power. If I flee, 

I bear it with me — silent if I sit. 

Yet gives it me not rest. No strength of mine 

Can cast it out ; and He on whom I call, 



162 THE WEIGHT. 

Permitting still its presence, only saith, 
My grace sufificeth for thee. Give me, Lord, 
That grace, and while thy purpose holds me here, 
Teach me how with corruption to abide. 
Nor loving it, nor murmuring — but with hope 
So much more ardent, lons^ine^ to be free. 



163 



THE PILGRIM'S SONG. 



When cherished wishes thwarted are, 

And for an even way, 
Rough places that distress our feet, 

Their rugged tracts display ; 

If we will lean upon the arm, 
Compassionate and strong, 

Though it be rough, our upward path 
Shall seem nor steep nor long. 



164 THE pilgrim's song. 

For Christ's supporting grace can change 
The most distasteful thing, 

And with the burden that we bear, 
More of refreshment bring. 

'Tis not beneath serenest skies, 
That richest harvests grow, 

But where the sun oft robes in clouds. 
And tempests sometimes blow. 

Long ranged I o'er the flowery plain 

Of fair prosperity. 
Unreached by sorrow, but at heart 

No blessing came to me. 

Again I bore those very griefs 
That had been dreaded most, 

And lo, the peace was hid with them 
Which, hurt not, I had lost! 



THE PILGRIM^S SONG. 165 

Now what are all these days and years 
Tlirough which we struggling are, 

But times of sunshine and of storm 
That more fruit we may bear? 

Though not a leaf should be disturbed 

By windy storm or rain, 
Were we content, amid the field, 

Unfruitful to remain ? 

Or though all honor, wealth and ease 

Do circle round our lot. 
What are they, when the heart computes. 

If peace come with them not? 

Oh ! burdened heart, no more, then, strive 

To escape thy weight of care, 
But rather seek the aiding grace 

That makes it joy to bear. 
12 



IGG 



GRIEF AT A MOTHER'S LOSS. 



Why should I weep ? were her allotted years 

Cut ofiF while life exulted in its morn ? 
Did she go down to death 'midst doubts and fears, 

Reluctant toward a Bar of Judgment borne? 

No ! till life's evening reached those years — their store 
Was as the full shock when the harvest 's done, 

And for a swift release she thirsted more 
Than doth the servant for the setting sun. 



GRIEF AT A MOTHER'S LOSS. 167 

Why, then, do I still weep ? Oh, not for her 
These flowing tears above her slumbers fall ; 

To break such sweet repose unkindness were, 

Though she would rise, my lips should breathe no call. 

She bore the heat and burden of the day, 
I would not now disturb its following rest, 

For blood-washed robes give back her weight of clay — 
A thorny pillow for a Saviour's breast : 

But this is why I mourn : yea, from the deep 
Of a bowed soul, here o'er her grave alone; 

Because the recollection will not sleep — ■ 
I did not love her as I should have done. 



168 



EVER NEAR FALLING. 



When sometimes roused up from their sleep, 

Or broken from their captive's chain, 
My passions do new revels keep, 

Reigning as 'twere within again ; 
When at such times a viewless hand 

Leads me to some still spot aside, 
And lifts the veil — amazed I stand, 

That such dread tenants may abide 



EVER NEAR FALLING. 169 

Still in a heart that loveth God, 
The chosen place of his abode ! 

And could I mine own madness tame, 
Or quench the self-destroying flame. 
If none now to my succor came? 
Ah, no ! let others blindly boast 
Of some power in themselves to trust ; 
But as for me, since that first day 

When, moved by grace, I turned toward heaven, 
Each briefest footstep of the way 

Was made in strength by Jesus given, 
Strength, that whate'er its cost may be, 
Was given costless unto me. 



170 



DELAY OF CHRISTIAN EFFORT. 



Striving in coward listlessness 
Each good work still to shun — 

How can a Father's sanction bless 
Our labors ne'er begun? 

Go boldly up — each hind'rance meet, 

Assail that nearest by ; 
When Duty calls, to bear defeat 

Is better than to fly ! 



DELAY OF CHRISTIAN EFFORT. 

How know'st thou but th' occasion rare 

This very hour supplies ? 
A victim struggles in the snare, 

A brother, captive lies. 

He who the search unwearied keeps 

With fervent, zealous mind, 
May rescue some; but he who sleeps 

Surely no souls shall find. 

Time ne'er on earth will fold its wings, 
Onward thy steps are pressed. 

Slothful and diligent it brings 
Where both alike must rest. 

If it be sweet, when day is past. 
Though not increased thy store. 

To think, not to th' endeavor lost. 
Its fruitless moments were, 



172 DELAY OF CHEISTIAN EFFORT. 

How sweeter, far, will be at length, 

As wanes life's setting sun, 
The thought, To Christ was given its strength, 

Though naught but Heaven be won. 



173 



AUTHOESHIP. 



It is a thing of weightiest account 

To write for those who shall come after us. 

The spoken word is but an uttered sound, 

It moves a ripple in the air and dies ; 

But that writ down — transmitted as a gift 

From thee to generations yet unborn, 

Shall go on, ever planting the same seed 

And rearing fruit, through Time ! Though unto thee 



174 AUTHORSHIP. 

In thine unhappy dwelling after death, 

Souls shall be sent, having chos'n by thy word 

Till thou wouldst stop the stream — 'twill be too late ! 

Engraved once on the world's recording book, 

The lesson thou hast left there, must endure, 

Be 't good or evil. And though thou shouldst come 

After, into that safe and Blood-washed fold 

Where not thy first defects, nor foemen's shafts 

Shall ever wound thee — yet, if by those lines 

Written before, not now to be effaced, 

Others do lose the path that thou hast found. 

How marred thy blest conclusion ! But if drawn 

Heavenward by thy wooings, they are led 

Through coming ages to thy bright abode, 

Then seems thine own salvation but a part — 

But one gem of thy gath'ring — as one gift 

'Midst offerings large to Heaven's treasury. 



175 



THE WOELD AND OUR LABORS. 



He who fills a lofty place, 

Though he climbed there to do good, 
If one spot his robe deface 

Shows it to the world abroad. 

So the man, who to some work 

Of mercy would devote his days, 
If frailties 'mid his virtues lurk. 

May gain, perchance, more blame than praise. 



176 THE WORLD AND OUR LABORS. 

And some, it may be, wlio in heart 
Are true, and long with earnest will 

To act, take not the laborer's part 
Because they feel their frailties still. 

And truly, bitterness he reaps 

Who sowing zeal, the world calls it, 

For some sin o'er which he too weeps, 
The cloaking of the hypocrite ! 

Yet is it just thus to desert 

For our small loss the world's great cause ? 
Willing to toil but bear no hurt. 

Serve we our King for man's applause? 

No, nor doth censure me defraud. 
Though battling in my place I be ; 

The good I do belongs to God, 
My faults alone belong to me. 



THE WOKLD AND OUR LABORS. » 177 

And why should I so keenly feel 

What foes may even falsely say ? 
Am I not for sins darker still 

Mine own accuser day by day? 

My Master but fulfils my word ; 

I tell him, for His sake alone, 
Not mine own gain, I wield the sword 

And praise Him for my victories won ! 

'Tis well. In my infirmity, 

Not in my strength shall swell my song — 
Mine own need shall my glory be, 

For so, in Christ, am I made strong ! 

Only, Lord, thou near me keep, 

In Thee may I my succor find, 
Nor let me from man's scoffing reap 

New pride, but lowliness of mind. 



178 THE WORLD AND OUR LABORS. 

Then, low or lofty be my place, 
My earthly portion gain or loss, 

I will with patience run my race, 
And count it joy to bear Thy Cross. 



179 



A SPKING IN THE WOODS. 



Not far I walked, wlien from the road 
A path wound through the deep, wild wood ; 
I turned on it, and following, 
Came to a hidden, crystal Spring. 
As close beside its grassy brink, 
I prostrate kneeling bent to drink, 
'Neath its smooth surface, imaged there, 
I saw tall bouo^hs, as in the air — 



180 A SPEING IN THE WOODS. 

While through their openings, farther down 
Spots of the deep blue heaven shone ; 
Then, when I broke the falling light, 
Lifting my hand to shade my sight, 
These pictures from the surface fled, 

And but a little way below 
The white sand, boiling, gleamed instead, 

Pure, spotless, like a bed of snow. 
I noted to the cool wet side, 
Welled up the placid, limpid tide, 
Then overflowed and stole away. 
Where thicker foliage dimmed the day ; 
The rivulet not heard nor seen, 
But marked by growth of deeper green. 
With here and there, amid the gloom, 
A wild rose in its desert bloom. 

How long it was I cannot tell. 
Ere I, here, in deep slumber fell — 



A SPEING IN THE WOODS. 181 

When my closed eyes beheld a sight, 
Unveiled not to them by the light. 
Methought the trees about me drew 
Apart, and the long vista through, 
I looked on the descending sun 
As oft before then I had done ; 
Only the clouds and sea of gold 
Now like a gateway did unfold, 
Mighty and glorious to behold ! 
Within those gates, undimmed and clear, 
'Midst Heaven's unclouded atmosphere, 
I saw afar a shining band 
Look out toward our earthly land — 
I saw them on Heav'n's threshold stand! 
Soon upward borne, as it had been 
With glad news, from this world of sin. 
An Angel to them entered in. 
13 



182 A SPRING IN THE WOODS. 

Then quick tliat bright host gathered round, 
I heard unnumbered voices sound, 
'' The dead hath life ! The lost is found 1" 
At this I saw the Heavens no more ; 
The earth closed round me as before. 
Then, while 1 lay there wondering. 
Me thought, beside that hidden Spring, 
Even with me in that lonely wood, 
One of those same bright beings stood. 
"Know'st thou what thou hast seen?" said he; 
"Dimly," I answered, ''doth dust see ; 
Even though I know, yet tell thou me." 
"Whene'er," he said, "on swiftest wing 
Angels to Heaven tidings bring. 
That but one soul hath turned to God, 
Joy filleth all our blest abode !" 



183 



POSTHUMOUS FAME. 



To die, is but tlie fate decreed for all, 
And, dying tlius, to lose in all we liave 
That property which gave it worth to us. 
What I do here possess, if not given up 
Before that hour, must be given up at death ; 
And what I have which Death robs me not of, 
As a renowned name — though still I keep. 
Is worthless to me who have from it gone. 



184 POSTHUMOUS FAME. 

For tliough it lives and still remainetli mine, 
'Tis in a stronger sense not thus, while I 
Am dead though it lives, and can know it not. 
Because, where'er my dwelling after death. 
To this world and the things within it bound 
I am as if in all I ceased to be. 
Therefore I find my closely-reckoning soul 
Taking the less note of its portion here. 
Choosing one rather, deathless as itself, 
Though here possessed not, for the life beyond. 



THE END. 



i(io^ 








O* • • • * <^V \*^ ^«» • ' ^ 
















Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 

DEC 



BBKKEEPER 

PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, LP. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 




- ^^ -^^^ -yW* 4.^^ \ '\ 













:• \. J" ^'4^^'- ^^ A^' .: 



• • • V' 




/ , 4.^ ^^ -^W^- J' \ '\ 







